Wish You Were Here
By Gavalin Brody In the dim booth, his shoulders slumped, Darrell Howard's fingers two-step across the keyboard as he answers the familiar interrogatories. His input accepted, the screen clears. His eyes water. Even after two years, he still holds his breath during this brief interlude while the system rummages through its silicon attic, looking for her at light speed. WORKING, the screen declares in soothing blue letters. As he waits, a message scrolls right to left across the screen in warning red. This comes as no surprise. He got the same message in the tube two days ago: FINAL NOTICE: ACCOUNT 1734-LTM IS DELINQUENT FOR A TOTAL OF 375 CREDITS IN BACK CHARGES FOR PREVIOUS VISITS. INSUFFICIENT FUNDS AVAILABLE. IF UNPAID WITHIN 30 BUSINESS DAYS, YOUR ACCOUNT WILL BE CLOSED INDEFINITELY. The screen clears again. He sees her and his troubles fade; his heart jumps. Lustrous brown hair bound in a ponytail. Arctic gray eyes. Lips pursed on the edge of sarcasm. She's still wearing the green satin jumper Darrell gave her for her thirty-first birthday, four years ago. She seems to sit in a similar booth. He beams. "Melody," he says. "Hey, D," she replies. "How are you?" "OK, I guess." "Working?" "Some." He reaches out to touch her face. Static crackles before his fingertips tap warm glass. Electronic heat. "I still miss you." Melody smiles. Her eyes twinkle. It still amazes him. "I miss you too. So fill me in. Get lit lately?" Darrell laughs. "No. I've turned into a real bore. Just ask Eddie." "He hasn't come to see me," Melody says. "Tough to ask him." "Sorry," Darrell says, backpedaling. "He's a nihilist this week. He thinks I visit too often." "He might be right," she says. "I know about the bill." He frowns. "I had to cancel Amex." She scolds gently, "You always did need someone looking after you." "Guess I still do." "It's not the same, D." Her ponytail dances as she tries to smile. "Don't say that." "True blue, baby-poo." Pet phrases. Familiar gestures. Nervous tics. Of course it's the same, he thinks. "I talked to your folks yesterday. They send their love. Maybe they'll shuttle down to visit this fall." "Angela stopped in three days ago," Melody says. "She's worried about you. Says you don't get out much." He shrugs. "Who can afford a social life? Besides, I need isolation for creativity." "Cop again, D. You keep coming to see me, don't you? Sometimes twice a week or more! I don't think isolation is what you're after, and what you're after, I don't think you can get." That stings, but he shrugs it off. "What if it had been me? Would you just forget about me? I'm not ready to lose you." She shakes her head. "I'm already lost. All I am now is a computerized extrapolation of a psychological impression and a grab bag of optical images and sound bites." "Would you just forget about me?" "I thought the whole point of this was so we wouldn't forget." Darrell scowls. "You hated the idea." "Still do." She shrugs. Her face softens. "Darrell, what you're doing to yourself is cruel." "I don't care." She sighs. "You know, D, if it had been you, I would have mourned you. I hate this technocrap, but I would have come to see you. I would never forget you! But I would let you go. I couldn't stay trapped in the past." She laughs at the irony. "Might as well be dead if you refuse to go on living." "Pleasant thought." "You know what I mean. D, you're still alive! I'm a pound of ashes in a black urn among the knickknacks." "So what should I do?" "You don't need to hear it from me." He laughs softly. "Melody Ann, you're a fine one to talk. You never could throw anything away." "I'm not asking you to throw anything away, love. But get on with your life. Live, D." "We said we'd never get tired of each other." "I'm not tired of you. I'm tired of you hurting yourself." "I wish we'd had kids." Flatly, she says, "I don't know how to respond to that." A message crawls across a gray window in the upper right hand corner of the screen: DUE TO YOUR DELINQUENT ACCOUNT, THIS VISIT WILL END IN THREE MINUTES. PLEASE REMEMBER TO REMIT THE FULL AMOUNT OF YOUR DEBT TO LONG-TERM MEMORIES INC. WITHIN 30 BUSINESS DAYS. THANK YOU. THE MGMT. "You really should go, D. It's not getting any cheaper." "I'll see you next week," he says. "Not if you don't pay your bill." He laughs. "I'll rob a bank. Anything for you, M." "You're hopeless," Melody sighs. "Hasta, D." The screen darkens. Again, the sense of loss and loneliness. He stares at his haggard reflection in the empty screen, and imagines himself a ghost. The smoked glass door slides open. Smooth amber light pours in through brass-tinted plate glass windows along the corridor. Darrell dabs the tears with a blue kerchief from his windbreaker pocket. "Hasta," he says. He emerges from the visitation booth, a cubicle with a patina placard - the words MELODY HOWARD, 1969-2005 engraved upon it. He takes his Long-Term Memories Inc. indentification card from the access slot, sticks it in his wallet. His fingers brush the plasticoated pictures. He feels her warm skin; hears her windchime laughter. He sobs. Sagging on a bench, Darrell shudders. She's right, he thinks, but the words make it no easier. He cannot give her up. He lost her too soon. This is all he has. What is mere memory, but a vague and pleasant reminder of how things used to be? Not enough, he thinks. Not by a stretch. Darrell sniffles, walks down the corridor, past a dozen other booths and at least a dozen other people. The words linger briefly in his ears, and then are lost. "He always did know the right things to say." "Lars hasn't changed a bit." "She thinks I should invest in the football franchise, but not the cane farm." The sliding doors whisper silicon secrets. Ahead, across the skyway crossing Polk Street, the Hillsborough Transit Authority monorail waits as a rush hour crowd scrambles aboard. A woman in a gray pants suit, her hair caught up in purple ribbons, holds the door. "Room for another warm body," she offers, smiling. Darrell shakes his head. He waits for the next train. Category:OtherSpace Culture Category:OtherSpace Fiction